


Into Nowhere

by ReceiverofWisdom



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F, Game of Thrones AU, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-29 22:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10145798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReceiverofWisdom/pseuds/ReceiverofWisdom
Summary: Kuvira is forced to take the Black and leave a land she was never meant to call home. Korra hails from a world completely different. Their meeting is chance but what they accomplish must be fate.





	1. Kuvira

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by a friend. Feedback highly appreciated

_Cold_. It cuts through her cloak like a hot dagger through butter, stopping her in her tracks as she shudders hard against the wind. No torches were lit in their sconce for this night. This cold, dead, dreary night. A torch here would give her away.

Kuvira picks up her pace, tromping along the compact snow towards the light in the distance. On either side of her, a blue empty abyss of flurries meets her. She can see nothing of mountains, let alone ground, as many hundreds of feet high as she is. The closer she gets to the light, the more relief floods her, and soon, she can feel the warmth emanating from it. Sweet relief.

”Thank the Gods you’re here,” a red-headed female sighs, deeply, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, hunched over beneath her well-worn cloak. “I was like to die here if you didn’t show soon. The post is all yours. Randal will bring wood later.”

With those words, she trudges her way off into the distance, back towards the lift that would carry her down and back to Castle Black.

Kuvira has her watch now.

So much to watch, there is, but she has fire, and cannot be  _too_  vehement about the fact.

She has hours to pace, hours for the cold to sink deeper into her Dornish skin, and for her black cloak to become white as the winds pick up

Being alone is a blessing, though after an hour or two, it dissolves into an unbearable boredom.

The nights were long and tiresome, and she misses the earlier days when her presence was favored in the mead halls near fires so hot her fellow warriors stripped their furs for light tunics.

She should not think poorly of her new found family. But the title  _warrior_  suits a very, very small percentage of them.

A commotion to her right startles her from her mulling, and she turns, hand at the hilt of her sword.

Randal, a hulking figure with firewood beneath an arm and a shocking array of profanity beneath his breath makes his way along the wall. 

Her hand snakes away from her sword and she takes several quick strides towards him, unburdening the wood from his arms.

He gives her a half-toothed grin, scrunching a blind eye at her. The other bears a scar of victory. Kuvira smiles back, dumping a log into the greedy flames as the white-maned man sighs, and leans back against a border of thick ice.

”Believe it ‘er not, I’m sweatin’ beneath this cloak.” He produces a wineskin, handing it to her first.

When Kuvira reaches a gloved hand for it, it is hot to the touch, and she unscrews the cap greedily. Hot wine. Bless this man.

”Not supposed to tell you so soon. But you’re headed beyond ‘morrow.” He guffaws, coughing, and she hands the wineskin back to him.

”Beyond?”

”Aye, beyond the wall. Y’duty ‘ere is done. Scroungin’ up everyone they are.”

”Wildling activity?”

The man bobs his head, offering the wine again. When Kuvira shakes her head, he slips it back into his cloak, and looks to the sky.

”Not touched the lower walls, not yet. Bear expects them to soon. Scoutin’ the boarders, mayhap lookin’ for a weak spot.”

”I see,” she says, after a short time of silence, her green eyes focused on the expanse of nothingness beyond her position.

”Craster, the old bastard. Feeding the Bear what he doesn’t want to hear. Y’ride well, and fight better. Some other lazy slough can man yer post. Like a’ve been tellin’ em for months now.”

He clears his throat hard, coughs, then spits.

”I suppose you had a hand in electing me?”

”Not at all. Old Bear wants you at the front ‘imself.”

A hum of mulling surprise left her, but she stood a little taller, hand resting on her hilt simply to rest.

”Early tomorrow,” another cough, hack. “Sending you a replacement soon to get yer rest. _That_ , a’ve elected to do. Repay me later.”

Before she can reply, he’s shuffling off, back into the rising storm, and disappears from her view after a few yards.

What use is her watch if she can hardly see a thing?

Why wait to tell her? Did they intend her to rise tired and delirious?

Her replacement arrives in the hour, and gives her leave to rest, giving her a peculiar look as she passes.

 

* * *

 

Her quarters are monumentally warmer than the outside, even as her fire has gone down to embers. It brings memories of her childhood. Stewards stoked the fires then. She feeds small sticks, and then a log when the fire grew, and stripped from her furs until her skin was bared.

The feeling of the bedfurs against her skin is heavenly. She crawls beneath them, far more tired than she had anticipated.

Her head hits the makeshift horsehide pillow and she dreamed golden dreams; a sea of sand and warm summer skies.

 

* * *

 

A raven wakes her.

She peers an eye open at the commotion it was making.  _Corn, corn_.

Always corn.

”I don’t have any,” she grumbles throwing a shirt at the greedy creature. The Bear’s, doubtless, sent to awaken her. It gawks at her with dark beady eyes, and moves up through a hole up near the ceiling that looks far too small for it to squeeze though. It manages, and she makes a mental note to repair it later.

Dragging herself from her furs with tired eyes, she pulls more furs over her small clothes and boiled leather onto her body, chain mail beneath the tunic.

There is no mirror for her to tend to her hair, so she simply tightens the braid she slept in, and tucks stray strands behind her ears.

Stumbling out from the door, cold air hit her in the face, as did the blinding sun. She stalks across the courtyard squinting, following the scent of breakfast.

The hall is not entirely bustling when she enters. The mood had grown solemn with the news she had been privy to the night before. She sits next to a hulking woman in braids, who was far more focused on her stew and hard bread than anything the Old Bear had to say.

Kuvira remembers her simply because the woman had knocked her into the mud so hard she had a concussion for days. Over simple training. It had been her initiation, as the female claimed. She gave Korvira quirky smiles whenever they passed. Her head reels just thinking about it.

Once her presence is known, the woman does indeed give her the trademark quirky smile, calling for a round to be passed to Kuvira.

Even an extra half loaf of bread.

She would need it, and took her time with her meal.

Her name is called, jumping her out of her mulling stupor, and she stands up from the table.

”Athos. Yes, you too. Sarah, Jamie.”

He was listing off the riders, she realizes, and let her eyes roam, taking in the names and faces of the brothers and sisters that would have her back in the wilds.

Six. Six total to go north.

A sour feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.

The large woman beside her, whose name she finally learned - Charisma - vocalizes her disapproval strongly.

”Sending us to the Others? What do you expect the six of us to do?”

”Scout. You’re rangers. Map the area, report your findings. Come back in a week’s time. If you feel like you’re ill prepared to handle the task, I can call someone else.”

The woman gives him a measured stare, and sat back down.

”I want no contact with the wildlings. None. Circle around them, bury yourselves in the forest.” He folds the papers in front of him, the raven on his shoulder opening its broad mouth.

” _None, none, none_.”

She hated that bird.

 

* * * 

 

The speckled destrier she sits upon is well-mannered. She has ridden him many times before, and the saddle is comfortable beneath her. Cautious optimism slithers into her frame of mind. She trusts the people around her. She is supposed to, but it feels genuine.

The horse shifts beneath her, chewing on its bit. They were bred to run and traverse, and no doubt, staring at the gate makes them anxious to begin.

Kuvira herself feels anxious. As far beyond the wall as they want them to go - she has never been more than a few miles north. Enough to know where Craster’s Keep and the White Tree are. She licks her chapped lips, and Athos raises his torch. The gates in front of them slide open, and the rangers in front have to fight their mounts to keep them from rushing headlong into the tunnel.

When the gates are open wide enough, their small column starts ahead, her destrier at a quick canter and gaining. Two by two they travel the length of the tunnel, breaking out on the other side as the gate reseals itself behind them.

She is out into the wilds, and the air never smelled fresher. Their neat column breaks up as they split from the main road. 

As instructed beforehand, Kuvira takes a game trail to the right, slowing her mount. A week’s time, and they meet back at the gate.

Going alone is highly unconventional.

Explained in the mead hall, their numbers grew perilously thin. The wall had to be repaired from last week’s heated weather. Sightings were reported in a castle farther west.

It irked her, to say the least. 

There had to be plenty of men and women out in the southern and eastern lands that could be sent from the dungeons, those who preferred the Black over castration or hanging. 

She would gladly take a murderer into their ranks if it meant more posts, more protection.

A heavy portion of their men at arms had done something terrible to land themselves at the Wall. They reformed, adapted with no small amount of effort from the Old Bear, and for that, Kuvira was thankful.

Her lips twist into a grimace. She need not think about what landed  _her_  at the Wall. She digs her foot into her stallion’s flank and speeds down the trail.

Her sure-footed horse travels roots and rocks easily.

She left at dawn, and slowed near dusk, when the woods came to life with wolves and shadowcats lurked the mountain tops.


	2. Kuvira

She dare not cultivate the fire past its lowest point. Every crackle has her looking over her shoulder, expecting to see the shadow figure of a predator, be it beast or human. Her horse stands slack, nibbling through churned snow for roots, eyes closed to the slight wind.

The slant of the hill gives her an advantage. Even through the darkness, the moon is wide and bold and lets her look out across the empty expanse of a field made of snow and ancient winter.

She shuffles deeper into her furs, feeling sleep tug at her conscience. One last time, she traces her finger along the path taken on the makeshift map, and she uses ink heated by the fire to add in a stream she had passed near an hour ago. How it had escaped being marked on the old maps, she had not a clue. A great portion of the parchment was bare. When she meets her brothers and sisters in arms again, her efforts will be just one part of a broad puzzle. An important contribution, she realizes. After the fire in the keep, many of their maps became naught more than ashes.

In spite of their numbers, the Old Bear selected them with great confidence that they would make their return.

She hopes he would send recruitment ravens to the other cities.

If they had more to man the walls, a wider skillset, sending six of his best out would not have been necessary.

 

The fire begins to die, and though her body warmed her furs, the cold quickly begins to slip its fingers into any visible amount of skin. She looks into the coals, and leaves the fire to fend for itself as she slips beneath the furs and makeshift shelter.

* * *

The chirping of birds rouses her in the morning hours.

It snowed in the night; half of her supplies buried, and her furs and shelter hidden away beneath a white blanket. The flank of the dappled courser shimmered with another layer of white fuzz.

She shakes herself off, crawling out from the furs, and stretching until her back responded in kind with pops and crackles. Her fast is broken on frozen bread and dried salted beef, eaten on the back of her mount after securing her supplies.

Her horse trips up once in the three hours she rides, starting her heart at a furious pace as she resituated herself in the saddle, looking down past the ledge she nearly fell into. She has to stop the courser, dismount, and continue by foot, into the rising dawn. Snow falls in soft flakes, and though she can no longer feel her nose, the weather can still be considered pleasant.

White Tree and Craster's keep were far, far behind her by midday, and by dusk she estimates she is almost adjacent to the Fist of the First Men that lies much further west.

The Haunted Forest encroaches, and while Kuvira was ever the skeptic of ghosts, even those in Harrenhal, seeing the dead rise back in Castle Black's keep shook her skepticism.

Every snap of a branch, every gust of hissing wind that sounded like whispers had her hair rising and ribs drumming.

Stopping for what seemed like the third time in the past hour, she tethers her horse to a sturdy pine and crouches by the stream he drinks from, her breath a mist. An hour of paranoia and adrenaline, after her mount was spooked so fiercely all she could do was hold on tightly as he raced through the whipping fingers of dead trees.

She glared at him from where she crouched, using the steady water as a sort of mirror.

Her face looks like a cat had a hay day using it for a scratching post. Twigs stick out of her braid, and her brow bleeds enough to seep over her eye, which she closed and wiped away with snow. The cold stung, but the air stopped the bleeding quick enough.

The mount whickers behind her, pacing and pawing the snow, head reared and occasionally pulling the reigns taut.

"What is it?" She murmurs, in a soft voice that doesn't match the irritation in her eyes. She walks back over to him, taking hold of the bottom of the halter.

It couldn't be a shadowcat, and considering other options, part of her wishes that were the case.

The tugging of her mount becomes more insistent, and she can no longer quiet him.

A fierce bark rips her attention away, startling her so badly, she misses the first grab for her sword's hilt. Tearing the glimmering steel from its sheath, she turns on her heel, low and ready to duck away.

She spent months training for this. Had seen her fair share of the far North's beasts.

Yet she gawked openly at the massive white _thing_ that stood at the treeline, teeth bared and beady eyes trained intently on her. Instead of advancing, it shies away, as if _it_ had been the one spooked by their presence.

Branches, sticks, and leaves break behind it, drawing part of its intention.

Kuvira loosens the reigns around the tree with one hand, moving closer to the courser.

Imperceptibly, it charges, and her back hits the ground so hard it knocks the breath out from her and she reels into a white oblivion. Massive paws press down on her chest, her chainmail being the only thing keeping the tips of its claws from biting into her skin. Its breath reeks as it opens its maw, leaning down to take her face.

A woman's voice stops her imminent facial mauling, and she lies here, sword several feet away, panting hard, her fingers gripping the creature's white fur and coming away with chunks of it.

The crushing weight is lifted from her, and for a moment she sucks in the precious frigid air that brings a bout of coughing, and then she holds her breath entirely as the chipped blade of an axe rests on her bared throat. The natural weight presses down, but she's sure if she moves at all, much more pressure will be put into the weapon.

She cracks open one of her eyes, previously screwed shut in the sudden struggle, and looks up at the blade's holder.

Dark skin, darker hair, and vibrant blue eyes meet her, in that order, and Kuvira is struck wordless.

"Weren't hunting for Crows. Amazing what you can find this far south."

There goes the pressure of the blade. Kuvira tries to press back further into the snow, fingers now digging into the ground beneath her.

The wildling above her breaks a smile, all white teeth, all relatively straight. She adjusts the blade, tilting the ranger's head back, then to the side, facing her.

"This far north. Alone. Your king lose his mind? Or are you off the trail that badly?"

Gritting her teeth, Kuvira remains silent, her eyes slipping briefly over to her sword. It is then that she realizes her mount has bolted. Again. Without her on his back.

A long, dreary, bellowing howl draws the wildling's attention, and for a small moment, a window cracks open. Kuvira shifts, a movement easier done in snow than dirt, and shoots her foot out into the other's knee, earning a bark of pain and just enough time to twist again and grab the other's wrist.

Her other hand goes for the shocked wildling's shoulder, and she jerks the woman towards her hard and fast, her skull colliding with the other's nose.

At the awkward angle from the ground, all she could manage was the satisfying crack of it breaking, the consequential spout of blood. If she had driven it more effectively, she could have killed her.

The wildling brings her fist to Kuvira's jaw in response, and then they're rolling and biting and scrabbling in the most undignified way, each desperate to find any sort of attainable leverage.

The wildling has a fist full of her braid, just as her hand is full of a pony tail and pulling hard.

She has to get this done with. The wildling's creature has disappeared, and every spare moment Kuvira fears she may feel its jaws clamped on the back of her throat, especially when their rolling takes them down a small hill, and ends with Kuvira victoriously straddling her enemy.

They stop like that, each breathing hard. Kuvira shifts her weight, and Korra pulls hard on her braid, forcing her head back as she scrunches her eyes shut and pants into the air.

The wildling beneath her shifts, but moves no more, nose still trickling.

"If I yield are you going to haul me back to your grand black castle?" The other asks, nasally, fighting the crimson that stains both of them. She swallows hard and then grimaces and Kuvira does too, simply because she recalls the feeling of her own blood slithering down the back of her throat.

"If you yield I don't kill you," Kuvira responds, grunting.

"Will you yield too?" Despite all, the wildling smiles at her crookedly.

Kuvira regards her critically as she cranes her neck. The wildling finally, finally lets go. A headache settles in immediately.

The other lies back, her dark skin against stark white, and splays her hands with her palms up. "I yield."

Several moments pass, and when she takes her hands off the wildling, she finds herself shaking.

Gingerly, the other moves her hands towards her face, pinching her nose, then twisting until it cracks back into place. Blood flows anew, and she grunts at the pain, lying flat again. Her throat tenses each time she swallows.

Coming down from her adrenaline, exhaustion takes over.

She would trust a snake more than a wildling. But that hardly stops her from slumping over and rolling onto her back beside the other, her breath coming out in thick mist as she puffs and truly feels the damage dealt to her. She had no broken nose, but she begins to wonder whether or not one of her ribs was compromised. Each breath feels like fire. Any deep inhale sends shooting pain.

They stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time. Longer than Kuvira would have liked to. The sky slips further and further towards darkness. When she can cultivate from her reserves of strength, she sits up, her breath hissing past her lips. She cups the injured side of her ribs, and staggers onto her knees, freezing at the low growl near her ear.

Pure white, with only the blacks of its eyes and nose to show, she can see the wildling's creature not far off from them. It, too, is lying down, but has risen its head as she moved.

"You said you yielded," Kuvira growls, eyes flicking to the other female.

"I did. But Naga didn't." She snorts, a disgusting sound from the frozen blood on her face. "Kidding. Keep your hands to yourself and she won't take them."

The other sits up as well, legs splayed out, fingers rubbing at the dark crusts of red.

Kuvira wants to punch her in the face again. Her own jaw aches.

A yield is a yield, and she knows enough to respect that. Do the free folk?

She has never met one who held their word or even paid mind to a yield. They gutted and beheaded and slaughtered still.

She wants to escape, but a dawning realization chills her. The wildling has seen her, the wildling knows where she is, and the wildling _must_ know that the sooner she can get back to whatever gods forsaken encampment she has, the sooner there will be riders sent to scour the terrain for her comrades.

By allowing the yield, she will be placing their lives in danger.

"You're coming with me," Kuvira speaks, trying to shove a tone of authority into the command. She makes it to her feet, slowly rising.

"Who is me?" The wildling wobbles to her feet as well, looking around in the snow.

Probably for her axe.

Kuvira could take a rock to the back of her head, but that would leave her dealing with the massive dog. Bear? Bear dog, she supposes.

"Kuvira," she states, loudly, adjusting her cloak.

"Korra. Naga." The wildling points past her to the bear dog.

When Korra comes back, it is with both her axe and the Watcher's blade. Kuvira reaches out to grab the hilt, and the wildling's grip tightens, pulling her forward.

"You're not taking me back to the nest of Crow's, are you?"

"What if I am?" She yanks the sword back towards herself, and the muscles in the wildling's biscep tighten.

"Why not kill me here?"

"I don't need my face chewed apart because I stabbed a wildling instead of taking her."

"Where are you taking me?"

Easily, Kuvira loses her patience, shoving the blade down into the frozen ground, and giving Korra a hard look. "I don't know. Just taking you."

Something in the wildling's expression changed. She lost a bit of her playful air, wiping at her nose with the back of her sleeve.

"Taking me? Just taking me? Here?"

"I can't take you _here_ if we're _already here_." She shifts into uncertainty as well. The free folk spoke the common tongue. But had they reached a communication error?

A jerk of her own rips the sword back into her possession easily enough, with the wildling looking confused. The sword slips back into its sheath, and she points at Naga.

"Get your beast to find mine."

* * *

She checked over her shoulder more often now than she had hours prior. Haunted Forest or not, the being behind her concerned her more than anything, even if she had bound the wildling's hands together and tethered the remaining rope to her destrier.

In her odd, makeshift saddle she plodded her weird dog right along behind her, safe enough back than her horse was only moderately concerned with its life. Korra cooed to the dog beneath her, rubbed behind its ears, and hardly seemed bothered with her injuries anymore. The dog moved fluidly.

Her horse jerked and bumped and stumbled and caused every forming bruise on her body to scream mercy. Her stomach was beginning to give her complications as well. Inhale, exhale shakily, regret breathing as the sharp burning took over. Wait. Breathe again.

They talked little, and the other's questions were met with petulant silence.

"You brood a lot. I met someone broodier than you. The big chained bear one o' the Giants own. He broods and broods and-."

"Giants are a child's tale. Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

"- and _broods_." Korra places extra emphasis on the word, leaning forward in her saddle, cupping her bound hands around her mouth, as if their voices did not already echo off the mountains around them.

Kuvira yanks the reigns harder than need be, wheeling her destrier around to face the other with a fury in her eyes. " **Shut up**. You have endless allies here. I don't. Shut. Your lips. Maybe I should've knocked some teeth out." She turns back around, shoves her heels into the destrier's flank, causing the bear dog to pick up its pace for the sake of its rider.

"We have tribes. That doesn't mean every one is an ally to me. I have just as many enemies here as you do." Her dog _wuffs_ a little.

"If you have so many enemies why did you come here?"

"I asked you the same thing a while ago."

They lapsed into silence again, until night began to fall, and Kuvira was falling asleep in her saddle. She slid to one side, and something pushed her upright, causing her to spook.

The dog and horse walked amicably side by side. Easily enough for the wildling to lean over and bump shoulders with the Crow.

"Someone tired? Plenty of cozy places if you know where to look."

"Then look," Kuvira grunts, raising up in the saddle to adjust again, her hand reaching for the rope that binds them together.

The great beast bounds ahead of her, and she watches its rider lean back as the dog dropped to the ground, snuffling along the snow, kicking it up here and there, before taking off like a bolt in the other direction. The length of the rope grows shorter by the second, and would soon pull taut. Kuvira wheels her mount, and pushes off towards them, eyes on the disturbed snow, and aiming to keep up with the rope's length.

Only a few yards ahead lies a small clearing against a rocky cliff side.

Korra dismounts, nearly falling with her bound hands, and shuffles over to the rocks, crouching to look beneath the hanging frost fangs.

"Beneath here. There's an opening."

* * *

Dismounting as well, Kuvira looks around them, suddenly feeling more uneasy than tired.

Alone. An enclosed space.

If she were to die, she would have been dead an hour ago, she cannot forget that.

She tethers her horse tightly, and the bear dog finds a cluster of bushes to lie down on. Beneath the fangs of frost, into the side of a mountain's dead drop.

She pressed her furs and supplies in through the entrance, as well as kindling and the few remaining logs she had, then slid beneath the fangs on her back. She would have kicked a few loose had they not been valuable in concealing the entrance. She expected an uncomfortably small hole. In the least, the cavernous area was large enough for her to stand up in. Light met her eyes, and she realized the wildling had already cultivated a spark from the kindling and bent, breathing life to the flames.

Instead of standing dumbly and watching her, Kuvira gathered pieces of larger kindling, and fed it into the flames as well.

"Have you seen a red priestess?" Kuvira asked, after some time. She's not sure why. She had no intentions of conversing with the other. And the obvious answer was a no.

"Yes," Korra whispers, looking a little more intently into the flames.

"How?" Her brows knit, and she dumps her furs into a pile, sitting on the hard ground and resting her back up against the pile. Everything ached. Being able to rest was a blessing.

Korra gives her a measured stare from the other side of the flames, then walks around, and plops right down beside Kuvira. "You don't know that your own kneelers travel the seas just to barter weapons with us? There are other continents, of entirely different cultures. Pirates, warlocks, priestesses. My parents live along the Bay of Ice."

The explanation made more than enough sense. Kuvira regarded her curiously, not having expected the tale to be told with such honesty.

"And you're this far west?"


	3. Kuvira

They had a night of shared tales. Mostly soft lies on Kuvira's part. Whether or not the wildling told false was hard to discern. She was either well rehearsed, or sharing the details of her journey was no big issue. Perhaps she thought it would impress a Crow.

Most of it would have, had she not been so content to brush them off as milk maid tales. Giants, dire wolves, snow serpents, the frozen dead that walk, mammoths. Her beast, apparently an ancient cross between a bear and a dog.

It made her uneasy, apart from the skepticism.

One creature she would have called a tale was the creature that almost had her life.

She had her suspicions it was thrown in with the rest to try to give the other creatures credit to existence.

It mattered little.

They shared furs because they understood that without heat sleep would not come easy and sickness would claim them. They shared furs because Kuvira stuck their weapons as far away as possible and kept the rope tightly secured to her person.

* * *

Out of all the birds in her life that had woken her up, having an elbow shoved hard into her stomach made her miss them all.

A soft, sleepy, unprepared stomach. She gagged, wheezed, and rolled over, clutching it hard and puffing for breath.

"You kick in your damn sleep," she hears the wildling complain, shifting under the furs, and the warm presence fades. Most likely to avoid retaliation.

"I could spit in your ear too." She says, once she catches the breath expelled from her lungs. She could kick her harder, too. She throws a rabbit fur at the other's head instead and scoots away towards the dead ash of their once-fire.

The telltale whine of a dog yawning is heard beyond the entrance, and her anxiety returns.

Had she not been stopped, she would have been making excellent progress on the map. What was she to do now?

_Crunch_

She whirls her head around, eyes widening as she snatches a hand out to grab the food from the other, who reacts quicker, and holds it away, trying to shove the rest of the bread into her mouth.

"What are you doing?! That's all of the bread I had!"

She _should_  have knocked the other's teeth out.

"Ah beh you hah a lot mur!" The wildling accuses from a mouth too full.

Kuvira drags her hands down her face, looking for her pack. All the way on the other side of the room.

"How in the seven hells did you even get to it? What _else_  did you eat?"

"The meat, first." She swallows heavily, grinning at the other in an almost bashful way.

That was all the **food** she had.

She's not sure what the severity of her expression must be, but it's enough to drive the wildling farther into the corner and wipe the smile from her face.

"I'm _so glad_  you got to have breakfast. Now where's mine?"

The wildling looks ponderous for a moment, honestly thoughtful, before shrugging her shoulders and pointing outside.

Kuvira is going to strangle her. Her face must show that, too, because Korra gets a look of determination on her face and starts giving her a look-over, squaring her shoulders.

She tries to make her tone careful, and measured, but it comes out rough as she's strapping the hilt of her sword back onto her hip.

"Isn't that courteous. Volunteering yourself to fetch me food since you decided to have mine. So, so nice of you. Maybe we were wrong to call you savages. Maybe I was wrong to look at you and think, oh, what a mangy-looking _mutt_." She jerks the rope still secured tightly to herself, pulling the other's hands.

She's never seen a pout quite like that. So pronounced, and so spiteful.

Korra grunts and jerks the rope back. 

She's not about to start a tug of war with a savage.

"Out," she orders, pointing to the exit. As soon as the other has wiggled her way through the hole, Kuvira wipes the tiredness from her eyes, and kicks furs out behind the other. After a few moments, she sees them disappear under the entrance and the shuffling sound of what she had quickly come to recognize as Naga. She nudges her pack out, too, and crawls through the hole, mindful of the frost fangs grazing her back.

If the other truly felt apt, she could have easily kicked them down on top of her.

Brushing the snow from her cloak, and relishing the vague warmth of the sun,

Her dabbled courser stands in the courtyard, complacently, and seeming to be no longer troubled by the presence of the bear dog. At least not as much before. She can see him shy away whenever the beast roams its nose too close.

Korra has taken surprising liberty in strapping the supplies back onto the horse. It peeves the Night Watcher that her supplies are not set exactly the way she wants them to be, but the pain in her stomach gives her other focus.

"Naga will go out and get us food."

"You're still hungry?" Kuvira gives the other a critical eye and moves in closer to bat her hands away from the supplies.

"I'm _growing_."

"How old are you?"

Korra rounds on her, and she leans back, hand going to her blade. She feels like an idiot for not having realized earlier, but beneath the other's furs, she sees the glint of the axe she had forgotten about.

"Where are we going?" The wildling demands, fists clenched and teeth grit.

That's an excellent question. The Old Bear's orders ring in her head. _No contact with the wildlings_.

She can't bring Korra back, she realizes. The wildling would be tortured and put to death and what would become of her? Defying strict orders just to bring back one wildling, jeopardizing their entire task. The only thing stopping her from killing Korra herself was the damn bear dog.

Sure, even if Korra sent it away to hunt, it would only be a matter of short time before it found its owners body and tracked her down. It was much faster than her horse. She wouldn't be able to make it to the gates before she met her fate.

As far as she could tell, they were at a stalemate. One she had not the slightest clue how to get out of without consequences all around.

That's what life seemed to be for her. One unfortunate consequence after another.

_Suck it up_ , she thinks. That's how it is for nearly everyone around her. But she tends to wonder if life hands her the shorter stick for its own kicks.

She doesn't answer, just stares into the sea of blue until Korra leans in closer, and lowers her voice, dark brows drawn serious. "Are you taking me as a salt wife?"

Kuvira almost sputters. "A... A **what**?"

"Salt wife. That's what the sea farers called it. One had four."

"I... I don't take _any_ _wives_. I'm a woman of the Night's Watch. No children, no crowns, no glory, no land."

And she lives and dies at her post.

Just what Su wanted.

"A salt wife isn't really a wife," the wildling clarifies, almost looking conflicted. And then embarrassment settles in. "It's just. I mean It's impressive. So I wouldn't mind. I would, in a way, but. You can match my strength. Even if I was exhausted. I've been able to overtake pretty much everyone in my village. So-" A black nose nudges her forward, and then appears under her arm, where she pushes it away, and turns to chastise the large creature for being impatient while Kuvira is left to soak in the words that scrambled on her overheated brain.

It's the closest she's been to a wildling that hasn't tried to hack off some part of her body. She did, when they first met. Now they bicker over food and which direction they're going.

She doesn't want to continue the topic, not with the course it seems to be carrying on with. Is this how the free folk court? The thought is laughable and uncomfortable.

While the other is distracted with her beast, Kuvira scales her mount and situates herself in the saddle, looking for the sun and turning her horse north. She will focus on her mission for now, and the details of her grave mistake later.

"We'll continue the direction I was going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously appreciate those of you who have commented or given a like!


	4. Korra

They continued the way she had been going.

Korra lagged behind, as usual, feeling that her full stomach was a fair make-up for her broken nose, which still felt terrible. As if she would sneeze and her whole face would fly off. She almost wanted to find a stream to check over her appearance. As if it would matter. But she hoped her bruises look bad ass.

She has her hood up, and from her little cave, she finds looking at the Crow's back odd. They're very matched in height, but Naga has the horse beat easily. She's used to towering over her own people on her companion's back, but somehow, looking at a Crow from the angle feels peculiar. Maybe this particular Crow.

This particular Crow who for some unfathomable reason, intruded into territory that was not her own, spared her life, and then refused to take her, as she had claimed she was going to do.

It was custom in most tribes. Those who weren't cannibalistic, anyhow.

It's irritating, simply because it's confusing.

Now they're heading _back_  the direction Korra was trying to escape from.

She's in no position to argue with her hands bound and sore. The Crow rolled her eyes at a basic thing like _giants_. What would make her believe the wildling about anything else?

She hopes the claws of the beast lying in wait sever the rope. It would save Naga chewing time. If the cannibal tribe didn't impede their path first. She would take the giant bear over an enemy tribe. She likes some of the bears the giant's keep. They're sour, and they brood almost as badly as the Crow, but that makes it easier to boop one on the snoot. Or be sandwiched between a snoozing one and a Naga on a cold night. If she can cuddle a bear, she's completely confident in her Crow snuggling abilities.

  
The Crow favors her left side, and Korra smirks beneath her hood, almost throwing a jape. Damn right those ribs better be bruised.

Naga stops, nose in the air, and after a few moments, the rope pulls taut, shoving her forward in the saddle until she pulls back, stopping the Crow's garron. It stomps impatiently, and she sees the broody female turn in her saddle and draw her thick brows downwards.

"What are you doing?"

_Seven hells if I know_. She pats the side of Naga's neck, wishing for all of her companion's secrets to be revealed. She leans her head forward against Naga's neck, listening to the growing gurgle of hostility rise until it boils from the bear dog's throat in a growl.

Naga sways her head in a serpentine fashion for a moment, before honing in on a section of the forest like a hawk, and scrunching her body.

Korra tries to sniff, and ends up snorting and spitting blood. As if the cold didn't numb her sense of smell to begin with. It didn't stop her from trying.

This seems to thoroughly disgust the Crow, given by the look Korra receives, but the attention is soon thwarted to the part of the woods Naga has honed in on.

She can feel the back of Naga's neck bristle, and she begins to back up.

The Crow's horse handles stress with less dignity. As soon as it picks up on what upset Naga, it begins to churn the snow and throw its head, distracting its rider.

It came out from the trees, snapping the smaller ones with its large, grisly arms.

Oh Gods, oh Gods no.

No bear, but a troll. Even Naga took several more steps backwards and inclined her head towards an open section of the woods. Kuvira's horse spun circles in the snow, braying loudly with its nostrils flared. When Kuvira caught sight of the troll, she could see the slow crawl of abject horror on her features as she gained control of her mount.

Korra tugs at the rope insistently, feeling panic rise in her chest. If Naga moved, she would be hauled off her companion's back. To her surprise, Kuvira wheels her mount around and digs her heels into its flank, jolting forward and drawing her sword. 

For a split moment, she wonders if the Crow is coming to be rid of her, using the troll to distract Naga. Instead, she feels the rope around her hands loosen.

_Another_  troll comes out from behind the first, all four of its eyes trained on them as it beat a meaty, hairy paw against its chest.

It is all the convincing Naga needs to leave.

Her bear dog smartly heads for the most difficult path for the trolls to follow; which doesn't say much. They are highly versed in the land they live in.

But so is Naga, and soon they are putting fair distance between themselves and the trolls. 

It only takes her a few moments, however, to realize that the Crow is nowhere in sight, and they are not being pursued.

She has been set free. No Wall Woman to harp on her every breath, no binding rope. She pulls the reigns and her companion comes to a halt beneath her, lungs expanding and contracting heavily as drool comes down in long goopy strings from her tongue.

She must be an idiot. An absolute idiot. 

She has family, friends waiting for her return.

The Crows have nothing but their stupid damn wall.

Even as she berates herself, she turns around, and heads back up the slope they had raced down.

She almost loses her head as a clawed paw swipes for it. Naga's quick movement kept her alive as the dog ducks to the side, _yarping_  out of surprise. The troll has lost an eye, oil-like blood flowing freely from the spot its eye used to be. Korra reaches for an axe that isn't there, a frustrated growl leaving her as Naga bolts the opposite direction from the troll, which is a size and a half larger than the bear dog.

A horse shrieks somewhere off to her right, and she directs Naga accordingly, her bear dog sensing her strange urgency.

 

She finds the Crow unhorsed and swearing indignantly as the troll rounds on her, not too unlike the stalking of a shadowcat.

They share a mind, a bond formed since Korra found Naga naught more than a cub. She bristles, and then charges forward, turning at the last moment to slam bodily into the troll, knocking the sturdy creature off of its feet. Korra clenches her teeth as she raises up to avoid crushing her leg, and almost slips off the side.

 

If only they had fire.

Shocked, it stares at her with its multiple solid black eyes, and then bares ape-like teeth, howling in rage, only for it to be cut short. It looks down at the black-glimmering blade showing through its midsection, and swings its long arm back, catching the Crow in the side, who drops like a rock several feet away, clutching her side and curling in on herself with her eyes screwed tight, swearing so fiercely her lips are spewing mist like a dragon.

If her rib had not been broken before, Korra suspects it certainly must be.

Her eyes search for the Crow's horse, finding it nowhere. The troll scrabbles with the steel sticking out from its stomach, bleeding profusely. She circles back around it, and yanks it out with surprising ease, swinging the blade until it bites into the side of the troll's neck and buries in deep. It slides out as the troll drops, twitching as the black thickness coats the once-pure snow.

She's never taken down one so quick.

  
With no time to study the blade, she slides from Naga's back and races over to the woman, kneeling down and checking her over, despite the swatting hands and insults.

 

Cuts, bruises. It's hard to see much with the amount of furs, and the cloak. They have no time to linger. With the Crow weak, Korra leans her head down and pulls the Crow across her shoulders, ignoring the indignant shouting in her ear. She drops Kuvira cross the rear of Naga's saddle like a sack of food, earning a pained yell and panting.

She mounts, and lets Naga lead.

Down a clearing, they find the Crow's mount. The white snow is stained red, with large prints all around and its entrails slithered in the direction of the thicker woods. The supplies are still there, including her axe, so she grabs what she can and they leave before the still-warm horse attracts anything else.

* * *

Naga has found a little cave nestled behind bushes and guarded by a Weirwood tree sporting the most neutral face she had ever witnessed. She inclines her head, and they hunker past the low lip of the cave. Inside, it's unexpectedly warm. She wonders if there are springs nearby.

Naga almost sits, until Korra scoots herself under her companion's butt and encourages her back into a stand, just until she can deposit the Crow onto the dirt.

The Crow grudgingly mutters the entire way, until she's sat against a wall, hissing, and regarding her with what seems like wariness.

Really?

After she could've left her for dead?

Korra reaches to unclasp the cloak, and Kuvira slaps her hand away enough to sting.

Furrowing her brows, she folds her arms. "Fine. Take it off yourself."

"Why?"

"Because you're injured, you bird brain."

"What are you going to do about it?" The Crow sneers, scooting further up against the wall. "Spit on it and pray to your dead Gods?"

Korra tightens her lips, and the Crow's expression loosens a little into some vague replication of apprehension.

"I was never a spiritual person. Take it off or I'll cut it with your fancy sword."

Guarding her arm, Kuvira leans forward, ducking her head down, and declining to move further.

Suspecting she has been given the honors, Korra fiddles with the clasps until it comes lose, and brushes it from the warrior's broad shoulders. The furs and boiled leather come next, the chainmail, and the skinned tunic, leaving the female top-bare aside from the small clothes.

It was a long process. The Crow was fortunate she chose to be careful.

Leaning back and balancing on her toes, Korra takes the other in. One side of her ribs are badly bruised in purples and yellows, and her shoulder and collarbone are marred in one large troll-fanged bite. The skin is red and bloody and bruised. It all shows clearly from far too pale skin. Korra looks at her own arms, scratched but no worse than her own face. She touches the Crow's arm. causing the female to jump for a moment, and flick her deep green eyes up to study the wildling in return.

But Korra pays the stare little mind.

She's busy comparing the texture and tone of their skin. The color of the other's loose and wild hair. The braid did not last the fight.

Korra finds she looks more dangerous without it. It gives more of an edge to her features. A kind of 'I'll slit your throat and piss on your grave' disheveled look.

Kuvira sits there in silence for a while and eventually closes her eyes, breathing in and out carefully, her brows furrowed.

She stands and moves back towards Naga, who is gnawing on a patch of pink fur. She must have been swiped by one of the beasts, but Korra is hardly concerned. Instead, she rummages in the Crow's pack for anything resembling medical equipment.

There is no wine, or ointment, and only a few bandages. She still owes the other food.

Without a single word, she dumps all the supplies on the floor, hops on Naga's back, and ducks out of the cave.

  
* * *

She returns by nightfall, the tired, sluggish footsteps of her companion silent behind her.

Branches, dry wood, and a gutted deer are her haul. Along with smaller wildlife. Naga had even managed to surprise a flock of birds and snag two.

Frozen to the bone, she immediately gets to work on the fire, the noise of her efforts enough to rouse the Crow. When the flames begin to grow, she can see the other clearly, and obvious sheen of sweat on her skin despite the settling cold. She had slumped over onto the ground, opposite of the injured ribs. She regards Korra with a cracked eye, her voice hoarse and dry like the sticks that crackle as the fire bites at them.

"Thought you left me for dead."

Korra looks at her, tilting her head, and then giving a wry smile. "Yeah. I'd save your ass to leave you to die in a cave."

Kuvira makes what seems to be a very vague attempt at a shrug, and goes quiet.

She feels guilty for eating all her food earlier in the day. She had honestly thought the other had another stash. Figured her precious castle would feed her like the kings she hears about, fat on the food their servants labor for.

Naga chomps on a rabbit contently and, using her axe, Korra cuts away at the deer, managing a makeshift roaster.

Eventually, the smell rouses the Crow into awakeness, and Korra can feel an endless stare at her back.

Never before would she have left her back to a Crow.

She's managed to brew tea from collected leaves as well - nothing special. Something her mother used to make for her illnesses. While the deer roasts, she travels back over to the other, snorting more dried blood up her nose, just for affect. Can't be having the enemy get too comfortable.

She urges the other to drink, who regards she leaf juice with suspicion. She slaps blood red leaves on the gaping injuries, earning her curses that would make the water people blush, and she bandages them poorly, but well enough.

Kuvira takes a sip, gags, and goes to give it back.

"No dinner until you finish your tea," she chides, forcing a mother's tone.

The Crow looks ready to slap her head backwards, but chugs it as best as she can.

Perhaps she jabbed at an emotional wound.

When the deer is done, she sticks another piece over the fire, and as tempting as it smells, she crawls over and gives it to the Crow, who takes it without the slightest protest and immediately starts eating.

Korra snorts at how similar her bear dog and Crow behave when urged by hunger.

She almost wants to _woof_ at the other, but finds it inappropriate. A _caw_ would just sound silly.

When Kuvira finishes, she wipes the grease on her breeches and lies gingerly on her back.

The wildling slips over, quiet, and prods a piece at the other's lip. She can sense a moment of temptation before the Crow grunts at her.

"Stop it. I don't need to be fed."

Sly and quick, she pokes it in at the last word, avoiding a swipe from the other's hand, and she swallows with a groan of pain at reflexively extending her arm to get at the other. The glare she gives could have lit her on fire, and Kuvira adjusts her position to face the wall, away from the wildling.

She decides to smoke the rest, and drags the remaining carcass outside, well away from the cave and under the snow, saving a few bones for practical use.

When she returns, Naga is curled up as close to the Crow's feet as she can get. Kuvira has sucked her legs up closer to her body. Withholding a sigh, Korra gathers a mass of heavy furs in her hands and drapes them over the Crow, crawling under them afterwards and snuggling up close.

_Goal_ , she thinks. First bears, then a Crow. She's on a snuggling rampage. Even if her current target kicks in her sleep. But she doesn't bother shriveling closer to the wall, and after a few minutes, she even extends her feet to Naga. Perhaps she doesn't fear them being gnawed off with the wildling so close.

Letting the fire go on, she spends her sleepless time tracing scars on the other's back with curious eyes. Old, settled. They almost look like those of a whip. Someone else in her village, who had been a slave to another tribe for a long while, had similar markings. Some are deep, some raised out. She reaches forward and traces her fingers along one.

By the breath the other takes, she can tell she is a great annoyance, but she is not told to stop.

Eventually the Crow's tense breathing goes soft.


End file.
